


The Hunger

by pushpintongue



Category: Septiplier (fandom), Video Blogging RPF, YouTube (fandom), Youtube RPF, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Anti - Freeform, Blood, Cybersex, Danti - Freeform, Dark, Exhibitionism, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Horror, Jack Is A Badass, M/M, Markiplier - Freeform, Monsters, Septiplier - Freeform, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Tied-Up Jack, Violence, Virus, Voice Kink, Whump(ish), YouTube, antisepticeye, jacksepticeye - Freeform, slight D/s undertones, void
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 16:56:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12136956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushpintongue/pseuds/pushpintongue
Summary: Mark is still watching him, quietly, with a small smile on his lips.“What are you staring at, you big doof?” Jack asks, lowering his hands finally.“Jack, believe me when I say, I know your various catch-phrases but maybe you need to sleep, buddy,” Jack can see and hear the smile.This is a little story about how Jack likes Mark, and Mark likes Jack. It's also a story about how Anti needs Jack, but has a really terrible way of showing it. After all, he is a monster.Oh, and it's also about how Dark is The Fucking Worst.





	The Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> A disclaimer: This story is VERY, VERY fictional. Also, and I feel like no one really needs told this, but just in case: do NOT show fanfiction to Jack or Mark (or anyone they know), particularly shippy fiction like this. Let's all be cool kids and respect their requests not to have this sort of thing shoved in their faces.

\---

Jack's busy. He's always busy, but even by his usual standards he is sleepless, over-caffeinated, messy-as-fuck-hair busy. He's ‘lying about how many cups of coffee he's had today’ busy, despite only having himself to lie to. He's planning a tour, he's got several series to finish, he's curating another fanart appreciation non-contest video, he's interacting on Tumblr and Twitter, and he's trying to occasionally do things like eat food that isn't pizza or sugar. He's trying, valiantly he thinks, to still go for a jog every day. 

It's 3:42 a.m. Jack is aware of this because he's been looking at the clock on his computer every few minutes, thinking out loud to himself, "Go to bed, you cunt." Occasionally, he thinks he shouldn't ever have been allowed to live alone; then he pauses and thinks back to living at home and shudders from his skin to his soul. No, alone is better, he thinks.

He's also been talking to Mark more, lately. Which explains why he's up past three in the morning, because Mark is _also_ busy. Jack pulls his hands inside his Diva hoodie, and rubs his tired eyes with the heels of his hands. He peeks over the top of his fingers, curled in the bright pink sleeves, when Mark stops talking abruptly. 

He finds Mark staring at him, smiling unevenly and looking kind of goofy. His hair is more messy than usual, falling across the left side of his face. Jack thinks deliriously that it looks soft, and wonders if it feels like his ex's hair, if that particular texture is a Korean thing. 

He laughs and re-covers his eyes, hoping Mark won't ask. He peeks again.

Mark is still watching him, quietly, with a small smile on his lips. 

“What are you staring at, you big doof?” Jack asks, lowering his hands finally. 

“Jack, believe me when I say, I know your various catch-phrases but maybe you need to sleep, buddy,” Jack can see and hear the smile. Mark's voice is hushed, speaking in a low tone as he usually does this late at night. 

Jack feels as if they're in a weird bubble that only exists after 12 a.m., when the world outside is quiet and they're not recording. It's nice. It's almost as good as sleep, or having friends in Brighton outside of Felix and Marzia. 

“Don't make me yell it,” Jack threatens, emptily. Sleep is, indeed, for the weak, but probably also for the sensible, he can admit inside his own head. “So what were you staring at, anyway?”

“I was staring at you,” Mark says, and then pauses. He looks away from the screen. Jack's stomach feels abruptly strange, and he chalks it up to sleeplessness making his body rebel. “Because I asked you a question around about, ohhh, ten minutes ago, then you started doing your sleepy-squirrel impression. You think you're cute, don't you?”

“Sqwirl,” Jack repeats, laughing at the American pronunciation. 

“Oh, don't you dare make fun of how I speak, you Irish bastard!” Mark pitches his voice higher, but still quieter than usual. “Squirrel is the CORRECT way to pronounce it.”

“Sqwirl,” Jack repeats, and Mark smiles back at him, a full face grin. Jesus, but he's handsome when he turns it on, Jack thinks. It's probably not strange to notice that about your friends, it's not as if half of Tumblr doesn't scream about Mark's face on a regular basis. It's not as if Jack's not noticed before. Mark giggles.

“Jack, I asked you a questiiiooon,” Mark says, with a fake-whine. 

“Okay, what did you ask me, Mark?” Jack attempts to get a hold on himself and listen. He feels bubbly. Jack isn't a big drinker. He doesn't drink often at all, apart from the occasional beer and a tipple of whiskey with Felix; and he's been high about twice in his life (embarrassingly, he'd whited out both times). However, he knows how loopy he gets without sleep, and the best comparison is being tipsy-drunk. It's the reason some of his most ridiculous, but usually hilarious, commentary is stuff he's recorded late at night. Sleep deprivation lowers his inhibitions about as well as four or five beers would. 

He can't stop laughing, and his brain to mouth filter is damaged at best.

“Maerk,” Mark repeats, in an offensively bad Irish accent. Mark holds his hands up to his face and peers over his knuckles. “Maerk oim foinally listening, so oi am.”

“Shut the fuck up, Fischbach,” Jack giggles. “Or I'll shut you up.”

Mark stops laughing, and raises one eyebrow. “And how would you do that, Seán?” Mark asks. Mark uses his real name sparingly and it gets Jack every time. Jack is about to tell him that's unfair, when Mark leans back in his chair and props his arms behind his head. His tank-top is stretched tight over his chest, and his arms are bare. Jack's eyes dart to the hair under Mark's arms, and Jack's face flushes hot, abruptly. Mark is posing and he knows it. Jack blinks a few times, understanding he's been staring only when he's spent long enough doing it there's no point in pretending he wasn't. Mark's a fucking show off anyway, Jack thinks. 

“Put the guns down, Mark. I surrender,” Jack says, and it comes out less funny than he'd meant it to. He chalks it up to his brain misfiring. 

“Yeah?” Mark asks, and it's quieter than Jack expects. His voice deeper.

“Well,” Jack says, and then takes a deep breath. He's about to do something stupid, and he's going to do it before his brain catches up to his mouth. Sometimes his mouth knows best. “I'll surrender on one condition.” His heart does a fucking snare roll. 

“Yeah?” Mark asks again. Jack's not sure he's ever had Mark’s singular focus before and it's a good feeling. Mark's mind might go even faster than his own most of the time. 

“Take off your shirt.”

Mark rips his Reptar shirt off over his head faster than Jack think he's ever seen a shirt be removed before. 

“You're kidding me right, that was meant to be a hard sell?” Mark says, leading back in his chair again, topless. He chuckles. “You've met me right?”

“I should know you barely need an excuse to be a fuckin exhibitionist,” Jack says, fondly. 

“Why'd you want--”

“What were you--”

“You first,” they both say, at the same time, and then dissolve into laughter again. Mark laughs in his standard, goofy chuckle and Jack watches his stomach muscles tense as he does. He's really not very hairy, Jack thinks. Jack can't even see his happy-trail because of the picture quality. Jack's hand goes to his own stomach and he tugs slightly at the hair under his navel.

“What were you going to ask?” Jack says, because he's stopped laughing first.

“Oh, I was going to ask if you wanted... a show,” Mark says. Jack's hands come up to his face again on autopilot, bright pink sleeves covering his burning cheeks. “Uh, guitar.” Mark adds. He scoots his chair forward, curling in on himself slightly. 

“Oh, fuck yes, man, I'd love to hear you play!” Jack says, enthusiastically. He winces a little at the volume. Kind of overly enthusiastically. He tries to moderate his feeling of excitement and awkwardness. Ever since he's been back into drums, he's leaning hard into anything musical, and he's always kind of thought that Mark should sing. He's also kind of jumping at the chance to change the subject before he does something really stupid.

On the screen in front of him, Mark's face has frozen in a dopey smile, eyes half-closed on a blink.

Jack sighs. Of course. 

“Come on,” he says, tapping his monitor gently. As his fingers touch the black plastic casing, the screen blanks out briefly, then brings up a mess of red, green and blue static and bars. Just his luck, his fucking system has died when he has so much to do, and when Mark was about to fucking play and probably sing for him.

He blinks.

The static is making his eyes itch, but he doesn't look away from it. He's always kind of enjoyed glitch effects, but this one is making him feel uncomfortable. His heart beats faster. He's annoyed, but his mixed-up, late night brain is confusing it for fear.

He rub his eyes, and when he opens them there are black spots and white noise for a few seconds. He glances at the clock on his screen, and blinks, trying to clear the static in his vision. It doesn't stop. There's a hissing, electronic pop in his head like a de-tuned radio and Jack thinks clearly: I'm going to faint, isn't this what fainting is like? He lists sideways in his chair, dizzy. His monitor abruptly goes dark. He grasps the desk in front of him and looks up into the black mirror of the screen: his reflection smiles, flickers, and is gone. 

The screen pops back to life half a second later. 

The Skype call is closed, and the Tumblr page he'd been on earlier has appeared back where it had been, a reblog page open on a piece of Anti fanart.

Jack's vision is back. His head stops spinning, and the static stops hissing into his ears.

He should have eaten something other than Dip Dabs for dinner. He shakes his head.

He needs to sleep, with a suddenness he resents but can't ignore. His hands are shaking.

A DM pops up from Mark:

M: skype crashed?

J: yeah dude and I nearly fainted for some fucking reason, I think I didn't eat enough today... I'm going to go sleep 

M: D: are you okay, Seán? 

He even remembered the accent. Jack smiles, despite the lingering weird feeling and the tremble in his fingers are he types.

J: I'm fine, I promise... I really wanted to hear you play, sorry

M: nah just take care of yourself, go sleep. virtual hugs, buddy.

J: night mark you big doof. Hugs and flowers and smooches lol. 

\---

The next time they video-chat, it's after testing out a new multiplayer game Bob had suggested. It goes well, and Jack's happy enough to send Robin his face-cam to edit. He sends the same raw file to Mark, knowing Mark's preference for including everyone he's playing with, trusting Kathryn and Ethan to do them all justice in Mark's edit. 

Bob and Wade have long since disconnected from the Discord group. It's nearly one in the morning and Jack is deeply aware that he _should_ grab some sleep while his schedule allows, but he's bouncing his knees and full of beans. He DM's Mark, and opens Skype. Mark's already online, so he doesn't bother waiting for an answer to his message before calling him. 

Jack bounces his knee rapidly and thinks about nothing except his good mood, and maybe how if he still can't sleep after this he's going to go pound the fuck out of his drums.

Mark answers his call, and Jack's met with Mark's finger held up in a quieting gesture and Mark's head bent over his phone.

Jack smiles, and waits.

“Sorry,” Mark says, moving his finger away and looking up at the camera. “I just got this message from this friend of mine, and don't get me wrong, I really like the guy but wowie, he can't seem to get enough of me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jack says, and laughs. “Y'didn't have to answer, if you want to go... sleep or whatever,” Jack follows up. He realises he's biting his thumbnail between his teeth and moves his hand away quickly. He knows for a fact Mark is joking, but there's still something in him somewhere deep down that remembers when he'd wanted nothing more than to collab with the amazing Markiplier, and how nervous he'd been to speak to him the first time. Of course, now he knows Mark is a goofy, over-sharing, awkward dude, but still sometimes it hits him in the guts in a weird way. Mark is really _his_ friend. 

“I'm a nice guy,” Mark says. “I wouldn't leave such a needy bro hanging.”

“Jesus, but you can be a douchebag sometimes, Mark,” Jack says. “I don't need your pity-Skype, okay.”

There's a part of Jack that loves, uncomfortably deeply, kicking back against Mark when he's being bossy. He gets giddy with it. He actively stops himself grinning when Mark puts on an indignant expression. 

“Oh, I think you need it,” Mark says, schooling his features into an exaggerated leer. 

Jack's face goes red.

“The fuck I do,” he says. “I just wanted to talk about the tour a bit, since we've actually both got a free thirty seconds. Your tour, I mean,” Jack says. Which is true, he's been meaning to ask Mark how it's going and talk the logistics of coming to see a few shows, most likely the London one. Probably to watch from backstage, knowing how awkward it could be to have the audience screaming at him when they should be paying attention to Mark and everyone. 

“Oh yeah! I'm thinking of spending a few days in the UK. Coming early to London, maybe. You know, we could meet up, I could visit?” Mark says brightly. “I actually have something to ask you first though.”

Mark's voice dips kind of low, like it had the previous time they'd talked this late at night. Jack leans forward a little. “I thought I was the needy one?”

“Oh, you are,” Mark says, dismissively. “I wanted to ask what you're going to give me. You know, because you surrendered last time. So what did I win exactly, Jack?”

“Well, I don't know. Ask for something.”

This is a problem. Jack is experiencing a problem. There's something he doesn't want to admit to himself that he finds kind of... uncomfortably, dirtily thrilling. He thinks he may have ended up like this because of his previous, long-distance relationship. Jack really blames that for how his body and his brain just can't help but sit up and beg, this response he has to any kind of soft voice speaking in his ear from far away. It's especially bad past a certain time of night. He's always been sensitive to audio, in more than just dirty contexts, and he and Seo-yun had... made-do a lot. With Skype, and with voice-chatting. Mark's voice is the polar opposite of hers, which should help, but doesn't. It just means Jack imagines how different certain things would sound in Mark's voice. Mark's would be, obviously, deeper. Husky, Jack thinks. He can feel his ears burning. He shifts a little in his chair. It's not really fair, the sleepy hush Mark is using now, low and nothing like the exaggerated squawks and pitch-changes Mark uses for comedic value. 

“Well. Let me think,” Mark says, hmmm-ing audibly, mouth close to the microphone. Mark is not helping Jack's problem, right now. “Okay, I'm going to be nice. Turnabout's fair play, Jack, so: take off your shirt.”

Jack rips his shirt over his head, and sits back in his chair.

“Nice,” Mark says, simply. 

Jack needs to stop thinking about Mark's voice. Urgently. He snatches his hand off his own stomach when he realises where it's settled, unconsciously. His fingers were heading on apparent autopilot to tucking into the waistband of his jogging bottoms.

“Jack?” Mark is talking to him. Jack drags his eyes up from his own bare, pale chest, and the trail of dark hair below his belly button. He does not meet Mark's eyes at all, because Mark is staring at his stomach. “You okay there?” Mark asks, leaning close to the mic, his voice and breathing heavy in Jack's ears, which is _not_ fair. Mark has nice shoulders. Jack's brain is just with it enough to notice that Mark still hasn't brought his eyes up from Jack's tummy. Jack tenses his abs slightly. Mark finally looks up and meets his gaze.

“You okay there yourself?” Jack asks, and it comes out lower and more serious than he'd intended. 

Mark leans back a bit in his seat, and flexes his arms slightly. It's not subtle. Jack watches.

“You're taking the piss now, Mark Fischbach,” Jack says, not entirely aware if his sentence has made sense or not. 

“You're lucky I've known you long enough to understand your weird Irish ways, because ‘taking the piss’ is not a thing here. Sounds kinky,” Mark says.

“ _You_ would think that,” Jack replies. “That... is so not my thing.”

“Mine either,” Mark says, sounding slightly offended, his pitch sharpening. 

Jack scrubs his hand over his eyes briefly. It's late, and after his mental malfunction, or whatever that was with his computer glitching out yesterday, he was actually feeling almost sleepy now. Mark makes him feel simultaneously hyper-aware of everything, and relaxed. 

“You're a pervert, Mark, don't deny it,” Jack says.

“I'm a very clean, wholesome boy, thank you very much,” Mark says, tugging the microphone towards himself and speaking in the dirtiest tone Jack has ever heard in his life. Jack can hear his mouth move, and his breath. It's filthy. 

Jack screams internally. He needs to move, so he stretches his arms over his head, slowly. 

“I know everyone says this, but you really do have a fuckin' nice voice, Mark.” Jack did not mean to say that.

“Keep your hands there for a second?” Mark asks, not backing up from the mic at all. Jack shivers, hands stretched above his head. “You're actually way more defined than I expected,” Mark says. “I mean, I knew you were slim, but you have some impressive definition.”

Jack watches Mark's face until Mark's eyes come back to meet his. He bites his lip and Mark's gaze darts to his mouth. 

“Enjoying your winnings, then?” Jack asks, before his brain can catch up with his mouth and be all sensible. That's never worked for him, anyway. “S'that your kink?”

“What, twinks, or you doing what I tell you?” Mark rumbles back.

“Jesus fuck,” Jack says quietly. His arms are starting to feel light as the blood leaves his fingertips. 

“A twink-kink--” they both say almost at the same time, and Jack laughs as Mark chuckles in his ear. 

“Alright, Markimoo, sure,” Jack says. He lowers his arms.

“I'm not joking,” Mark says. 

“About which one?”

“Either of them. Both. Both are good.”

“Prove it,” Jack dares. It's out of his mouth before he can think too deeply, once again. At this point, he's not sure he can think deeply at all. The blood in his brain is rapidly heading southwards. He finally admits to himself that his dick is hard for this. He feels dirty as fuck, and he likes it.

Mark makes a noise that reverberates through Jack, and Jack can feel the pulse of it heavy in his veins.

“I can prove it,” Mark says, and Jack mourns his mouth moving further from the mic. “So you want that?” Mark pushes himself back from the desk slightly. He leans back in his chair, and puts his bare arms behind his head. Jack keeps eye-contact through the screen, desperately trying not to look exactly where Mark's made it very easy for him to see. He's waiting for Mark's permission, he thinks. 

“I asked if you want me to prove it,” Mark says.

“Yeah,” Jack manages. He's seriously fucking hard. If he moves his chair back just a little, Mark is going to be able to see. 

“You have to help,” Mark says.

“Sure,” Jack says. 

“Move your chair back and stand up,” Mark says. Jack shivers. It's not phrased as a question.

“Jesus, Mark,” Jack breathes. He stands up, his head feeling light. His knees are weak like they normally only get right before he comes. Jack's cock throbs. 

Mark makes the sound again, a deep breathy noise of enjoyment. Jack finally glances down at Mark's lap. He's... definitely hard. Jack can see the bulge of his erection through his shorts. “I'm going to prove it Jack, but I want you to ask for it again. Tell me you want to see how much I like this. Tell me you want to see it.”

Jack really fucking wants to see it. He wants to see Mark's cock. His can't help it, he runs his hand down his own stomach and lightly over the front of his jogging bottoms. They aren't hiding anything. He palms his cock quickly as he watches Mark, eyes unable to settle. 

Mark's hand goes to his own crotch in sympathy, and the feedback loop is insane. They both groan. 

“I can tell you want it,” Mark says, “but I want to hear you say it.”

“I want it,” Jack says immediately. “Please,” he adds, hazarding a guess.

“Yeah,” Mark groans, like he's been shot. If Jack were in his right mind, he'd claim a victory for that one. Got him. Jack runs his hand over his own chest--

The screen flashes up an image of Jack's own face. Jack drops his hands to his sides and tilts his head. 

“What the fuck,” he says out loud, despairingly. _Again? Now?_

His monitor goes blank, and a fraction of a second later it blinks back to life. It's Jack's face again, but it's not Jack's face; Jack squints and the image stares back at him. It's the same as before and totally different. This time he can tell it's not his reflection smiling back. Jack isn't smiling. It is. It's his face, but it looks for all the world like an Anti edit. His eyes are both green, where Jack's are blue. They're acidly bright under his own dark brows. He has the plugs in his ears, and the tips of his ears are more pointed than before. Jack steps back unconsciously.

“You're distracted. Pay. Attention.” 

The voice is like a broken radio; static and screaming. 

The screen goes dark.

\---

Jack wipes his hand over the bathroom mirror, clearing the fog. He contemplates shaving and discards the idea. He's growing the sides of his facial hair back in anyway, might as well leave it. One step closer to not being jealous of Felix's beard. He smiles at his reflection and rounds his shoulder, flexing slightly. He'll never catch up to Mark's arms either, but he's at least got the definition that comes with being fit as he was a few years back. If he ever stops trying to catch up to Felix and Mark, it'll be a strange day. 

The wind outside rattles his bathroom windows. It's coming in off the sea, and it's bitter and strong. February in Brighton is not to be fucked with and Jack is thankful for the radiator running along the wall of his bathroom, his towel waiting all toasty on top. He'd jumped in the shower as soon as he'd come inside, and now he can feel his fingers again.

He taps his phone; it's 8:30 and it's been dark for hours, and there's hours more dark before he can reasonably speak to Mark. He avoids his own eyes in the mirror as he finds his toothbrush. He's got work to do anyway. His phone goes dark. 

If there was a worst way to end the first time you almost have cyber sex with your friend, who you aren't dating and haven't actually discussed any of this shit with, well. Jack has discovered it. He tells his brain to shut up. 

The sense of discomfort is like a building toothache. 

So, Jack blames stress. His life is weird, right now. He can admit that to himself. _I almost fucked Mark,_ Jack's brain supplies. That's enough, he thinks, to create this static-electric sense of oppressive dread that's almost suffocating him. That, and the fucking glitch he's not thinking about. His own face, looking back at him. Stress and thinking with his dick had made his brain malfunction and see... Anti. _Twice now?_

“Look alive, Jackaboy,” he tells himself out loud. He plants his hands on the edge of the sink and smiles. “There's no such thing as Antisepticeye.” His hair sticks up in fifty directions since he'd toweled it off: he looks ridiculous, he's naked, and he's talking to himself. Great. One thing that's come out of his minor breakdown is he's considering doing another Anti event-- the fanart has been thinner in the ‘antisepticeye’ tag lately, and Jack's kind of missing it. There's just so much else going on. He needs to finish Observer, for starters. He needs his head clear and his brain well lubed for that mindfuck of a game.

He glances at his phone and stops himself checking the time again, considering that it might be better if he actually sleeps tonight (he tells the part of himself that's thinking of Mark to calm the fuck down. They can always talk tomorrow. It's fine). 

Thinking about it helps. He's being a crazy person. There's no time for Anti now, and he'd said it himself: Anti is unpredictable. Best to keep it that way, keep them waiting and guessing.

Besides, if the community thinks he'd forgotten their favourite boy--

The lights in the bathroom go out.

“Okay then,” Jack says out loud, his voice cracking slightly. He finds the lightswitch and flicks it a few times. Nothing happens. “Okay then,” he repeats. So, the wind has fucked something up outside, most likely. He turns to retrieve his clothes from their pile on the countertop, intending to get dressed and brave the search for his fuse box. His heart is pounding and the rotten-tooth throb of dread is back. He catches his own eyes in the mirror, illuminated from below by his phone screen.

His phone, that he hasn't touched, is lit up brightly. Jack squeezes his eyes shut, and then opens them, looking down at the small screen. His own face stares back, but not his face. The black pits of Anti's eyes have mismatched irises. Jack's heart smashes itself against the cage of his ribs when the image smiles.

“You're not real,” he says, stepping back from the phone without telling his legs to move. 

The screen glitches, black bars striping everything. The room is bathed in too much green light, and it cycles gently through blue and into red. Jack feels physically ill, his stomach turning as if he's motion sick. There's a crackle of static in the air.

Anti is sitting on the counter top, his legs crossed at the ripped knees of Jack's familiar black jeans. His wrists rest on top of his exposed kneecap, his knife hanging from one hand loosely. The light that's too much for a phone screen seems to come from him, Jack thinks. He's staring. He remembers abruptly how naked he is, but he's too scared to feel anything else.

Anti watches him back, his facial expression flickering through cycles like a strobe light. He's smiling, snarling, blank-faced. It settles on a smile. Anti tilts his head, raising the knife to point roughly at Jack's neck. Jack's eyes dart to the wound across Anti's throat, red and blood stained, but not bleeding.

“I'm glad you recognize that _I_ am their favourite, but if you think you can just FORGET ME,” Anti's voice raises and shatters. “I'll give you a reminder.” Anti's hand slams down on the counter over the screen of Jack's phone, and Jack watches it crack even as Anti's hand seems to pass right through, fingers dipping inside the black screen as if it's a pool of ink. 

Jack blinks, and Anti's in front of him. Anti's teeth are gritted, his face a mask of pain. Pain? Jack's eyes flick down to the wound across Anti's neck, but has only gets a fraction of a second to see that blood is pouring freely from it. Anti's knife flashes under his nose and Jack jerks his head up to avoid it. There's no pain, even though he thinks, he's _sure_ Anti should have dragged the blade across his throat. He looks down. Anti's reaches for him with his empty hand, fingers clawed to grasp at Jack's skin, but Jack feels nothing. Anti's hand has disappeared, right into his chest. 

“Fuck,” Jack says, his vision graying around the edges. He feels electrified. There's no pain, but his muscles tense as if shocked. He can't--

“FUCK,” Anti screams, pulling his hand back outside of Jack's body.

Jack collapses like a puppet with cut strings.

\---

When he'd woken up on the bathroom floor, the lights had been on, and his phone was beside him. The screen was cracked. His head ached, and when he swallowed he tasted blood. He'd gagged slightly at the mouthful, stood slowly before spitting it into the sink in a red, clotted lump. He'd told himself the broken screen on his phone could be from falling, and certainly the blood was from the chunk he'd bitten off the inside of his cheek. He told himself it could be a lot of things.

Jack's tongue finds the healing wound inside his mouth and he pushes on it. He needs to stop doing it, but he can't. Every time he thinks of himself passing out, of what happened, or what _didn't _happen, he presses on the wound inside his cheek. It stings still, despite having healed rapidly. It's a cycle of trying not to think about the fact that he might be going crazy, and being reminded by the stinging inside his mouth as his tongue wanders.__

__He's got Observer up on his screen because the best cure for anything he's ever known is work. Stick to the schedule. He's also glad to try and finish the game. The cyberpunk, neo-noir style still pushes all his buttons. He really does fucking love the glitches, the constant rain, the neon lights._ _

__Of course, because this is the kind of week Jack is having, he's been trying to get his suddenly fucked up capture card to work, for the last ten minutes. He's distracted and frustrated. The menu of the game plays in the background, cycling and repeating slowly, the white text of the title blinking._ _

__“Suck a diiick, suck a diiick,” Jack sings quietly to his computer and to himself, equally annoyed at both. He ducks under the desk to check he's not being _completely_ dumb, and wiggles a few of the cords at the back of his computer tower. He pokes his tongue into the wound inside his cheek until he tastes blood again._ _

__He pops back up to check and the game menu flickers aggressively, black and green bars jerking the text across the screen. It flickers back to normal. Jack stares at the screen until it's cycled through a full menu again normally. It's fine._ _

__Jack puts his headphones on, and is met with complete silence. Because of course, it's not fine, something is seriously broken._ _

__Someone whispers behind him._ _

__Jack jerks his head around so fast his headphones slip off one ear, to look at his closed door._ _

__Nothing is wrong, Jack tells himself. "Nothing is wrong," Jack hums, then sings to himself tunelessly, "nothiiing is wrooong, suck a diiick.” He adjusts his headphones and turns back to the screen._ _

__The screen is black._ _

__Anti's face appears._ _

__Jack can't move._ _

__Anti's face slips. His jaw slides sideways, disconnected through his top lip. Jack feels more than sees the hint of molars, lashing tongue, tendons, muscle, blood. The wound on his neck opens wide, like a second, smiling mouth. Blood, again. Anti's face inside the screen is a paper image, sliced with a sharp blade. Jack blinks, and Anti's face is whole. Anti steps backwards, inside the screen. Jack's mind can't make sense of how that works, outside of a video. If he's real. He's not real._ _

__“You're not real,” Jack says._ _

__"Optimistic to the point of painful, Jack."_ _

__Anti laughs, loudly, and it's as disorienting as binaural audio: his voice is everywhere at once. Jack rips his headphones off and grabs the edge of the desk to push himself backwards. Anti's hand shoots out like a snake, grasping Jack's wrist bone-grindingly tight._ _

__Jack's stomach hits the edge of the desk as he's tugged forward on the chair, and he feels winded, breath punching out hard and not returning easy._ _

__Anti is touching him._ _

__He's physically interacting with Jack's body. Jack doesn't understand. He doesn't understand, except to consider what he knows makes him definitely, completely insane: this is real. The air around Anti's hand where it connects with Jack's wrists hums like a high voltage box, and makes Jack grit his teeth at the droning sound._ _

__Jack is terrified, but also fascinated. _What the fuck is happening? What the fuck is he? How?_ Anti's eyes flash black and then to Jack's own clear blue._ _

__"Stop staring or I'll take your eyes out,” Anti snarls. “No more of those baby blues to flash you adoring fans.”_ _

__Jack realises he needs to try and move. He tugs his hand away hard, and Anti's fingernails scrape across the soft skin inside his wrist. They feel needle-sharp, and knows he's bleeding but can't care._ _

__“This isn't fucking real,” Jack hopes out loud. He shoves the chair across the room and finds himself face to face with Anti, as quick as he can blink. His monitor is back to the menu for Observer, and Anti is standing in front of him. Jack realises he's seeing the game through Anti's torso. “What do you want?”_ _

__Anti's hand is faster than Jack can move, it's faster than Jack can see. Jack doesn't understand what's happened until the pain starts. Jack sees the knife in Anti's hand suddenly, held casually. Anti abruptly has black-painted fingernails. Blood drips into Jack's eye and he blinks, thinking for a second he's blind, his hand slapping to his forehead. Pain radiates across the entire left side of his face, as his fingertips press on the cut there. Anti has sliced through his eyebrow, the knife tip grazing across the delicate skin of his eyelid and down his cheek. It's deep through his eyebrow and Jack can feel the edges of it gaping slightly. There's a lot of blood. Jack pressed his fingers down hard, and breathes deeply, telling himself that's the only reason he can't see right now. That's all._ _

__“Does that feel real, Jack?”_ _

__“What do you want?” Jack asks. He sees the room move through his uncovered eye, rocking like the pitch and roll of a ship on a stormy sea. He's going to pass out again. He has just enough sense to sit down hard on the ground._ _

__“I want what's MINE.”_ _

__Jack looks up from the floor, and Anti is looking down at him, one green eye and one blue. Jack sees his mouth move again, but can't hear anything. He passes out._ _

__\---_ _

__He's messaging Mark before he's even thought of how to ask what he needs to know._ _

__“Hello stranger,” Mark says, as the chat connects. Jack is glad he had chosen to go with Discord, and not Skype. He doesn't think he can look at Mark's face right now and still get anywhere._ _

__“Hey,” Jack starts. _Hey Mark, so you know the whole 'egos' thing? You've had that longer than me, have any of yours ever started haunting you or am I actually going insane? _No, he thinks. Probably not that.___ _

____“Jack? Hey man, are you okay?” Mark sounds concerned. Jack thinks he hears a nervous note in Mark's voice too, but he's not sure. He's just glad Mark doesn't sound angry at Jack for not explaining himself after their almost-sexy time._ _ _ _

____“Yeah, I'm fine! I mean,” Jack starts. _I'm pretty sure I've lost my mind and am hallucinating a demon-glitch that my community created._ He wants to say that, exactly, but also doesn't want to say that at all, in any way. “Uh, I need to talk to you about something.” Jack presses lightly against the butterfly bandages over his eyebrow. It hadn't needed stitches, at least. His eyelid still feels strange, too. _ _ _ _

____“Is this about the other night? I, uh. I really hope you didn't think I was too...” Mark trails off, and Jack's heart lurches in his chest._ _ _ _

____“No!” Jack says quickly._ _ _ _

____“No?” Mark asks._ _ _ _

____“It's not. About that. I mean. I want to talk about that, but I need to talk about what happened when the call got cut off. Uhm. Why that happened.”_ _ _ _

____“I'm pretty sure at this point you actually don't want to know what happened on my end,” Mark says neutrally._ _ _ _

____“I really fucking do,” Jack says, and knows it comes out too intensely. “I just. You know the egos?”_ _ _ _

____“What?” Mark says, sounding confused as fuck. Jack winces._ _ _ _

____“I mean, I need to ask you something about. I think I might be losing it, a bit. Because the thing is, the call the other night-- it was great Mark, I mean, I was really fucking into it and I just-- that's not the point though. I'm rambling. Just. You're the only person I think I can ask this, and I need you not to hate me or think I'm too weird to speak to again.”_ _ _ _

____“Jack, just shut up and ask me,” Mark says._ _ _ _

____Jack can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him, slightly hysterical._ _ _ _

____“Well, I can't do both,” he giggles._ _ _ _

____“Ask me,” Mark says, and Jack can hear the smile in his voice. “Egos?” Mark prompts._ _ _ _

____“I think something strange is happening, and I need to ask if anything... like this has happened to you before. This is going to sound _super_ fucking weird, okay?”_ _ _ _

____“Jack, I know you're weird already. Just ask.”_ _ _ _

____“Have you ever... seen one of your egos? Like. For real. Not in a video. In person.” Jack feels his face burning, even though Mark can't see him._ _ _ _

____There's silence for a long, long time. Jack knows Mark hasn't disconnected, and his stomach turns thinking of what Mark must be thinking._ _ _ _

____“Are you saying you have?” Mark asks, finally. He sounds so deliberately neutral Jack's heart sinks._ _ _ _

____“No--” Jack starts._ _ _ _

____“Whatever it is, I want to hear it. I'm here for you,” Mark says._ _ _ _

____Jack can't speak for a second._ _ _ _

____“Jack, tell me the truth,” Mark says, after a few seconds of Jack's silence. He's never sounded this serious with Jack and Jack winces at his tone. Mark's voice is uncomfortably commanding when he wants it to be, and Jack feels compelled to answer him. Even if it breaks everything._ _ _ _

____The more Jack thinks about it, though, the more he doesn't know if it _is_ that he's losing it. He thinks of recording the last video for Anti: there was no script. There had never been a script for Anti. Why? Jack rubs his hand over his eyes. Jack can talk a mile a minute, but he doesn't do that type of serious improv. His stomach flips like when he'd done his first solo panel, but without the underlying happiness. The thought is suddenly eerily, physically uncomfortable. He feels like he's just seen something innocuous change into something grotesque. Like the entire Anti thing has always been this way but he's never seen it clearly, like he thought he was eating rice but it was maggots the whole time. What if there was never a script, because he'd always known what to say, because Anti was real?_ _ _ _

____“Yeah. I think... I saw Anti.”_ _ _ _

____“Fuck,” Mark says simply. “I thought it was just us--”_ _ _ _

____The screen goes dead._ _ _ _

____Jack shoves his chair back from the computer desk and stands._ _ _ _

____The screen stays blank._ _ _ _

____Jack breathes and doesn't move. He can't look away or bring himself to try the power button._ _ _ _

____After a few deep breathes the screen flashes white and then fades out to strings and strings of zalgo text, rippling like a willow's branches, alive and electric. Jack reads quickly as he can, picking out sentence fragments but feeling as if he's missing most of it. It flows across the screen so fast. He sees “liar,” “liars,” “ignore me,” and “fuck,” multiple times, flying past in a headache inducing flash of text strings. It makes Jack feel motion sick._ _ _ _

____He backs out of the room._ _ _ _

____\---_ _ _ _

____Jack had already been short on sleep, and now he's had none._ _ _ _

____He's been avoiding technology, which is impossible for the average person and torture for him. He hasn't been carrying his phone. He feels paranoid and he feels justified at once. He knows he's being crazy. He knows he _is_ crazy, he just doesn't know how crazy he is. He knows electronics aren't safe, but he doesn't know if it's everything. Is all technology off limits? Is it even about that? The logic of this fictional fucking _whatever_ is actually something he's contemplating. _ _ _ _

____When he frowns, he feels the cut on his eyebrow pull. It stings, opening a little. That's real, he thinks. That's a knife-wound and that's going to scar._ _ _ _

____He stares at his phone where it's been vibrating on the tabletop for a solid thirty seconds. The screen is cracked just badly enough he can't read it without going closer. His door buzzer sounds and he jumps, then goes for it immediately, leaving the phone to ring._ _ _ _

____He opens the door to cold air and--_ _ _ _

____“Flamingo shorts oh my GOD what happened to your FACE?” Mark blurts in a rush._ _ _ _

____“What the fuck?” Jack whispers with feeling, then stronger: “What the fuck, Mark! What are you,” Jack starts to ask the question, then decides he doesn't care. He launches himself at Mark harder than he'd intended and almost sends them both toppling down his front stairs. He wraps his arms around Mark's solid body, and presses his face against his throat. Mark's hoodie feels cold against Jack's bare arms but his skin is hot against Jack's nose. He hadn't realised how much he'd needed someone with him until now._ _ _ _

____“The tour,” Mark mumbles, mostly into Jack's hair._ _ _ _

____“Oh,” Jack breathes. Mark's a week out from his tour and, Jack thinks, of course he'd said he'd try and spare some time to see Jack while he was here. “So I haven't just lost it completely. You're here.”_ _ _ _

____He should be entirely thrilled, but he's scared as well. Scared he'll be proved crazy, and scared he won't be._ _ _ _

____“You think you're hallucinating me or something?” Mark asks. Jack can feel his lips move against his hair._ _ _ _

____“Um,” Jack says, intelligently._ _ _ _

____“You're hugging me,” Mark says simply. He runs his hand down Jack's back, palm stopping flat above the waistband of his shorts. “I'm right here.” Mark's voice is deep and a little rough, from the cold or what, Jack doesn't want to assume._ _ _ _

____Jack has the uncomfortable urge to cry. Mark is solid, he's real, he's even starting to feel warm in Jack's arms. Jack's heart beats faster. He breathes in deeply, his nose still pressed to Mark's throat._ _ _ _

____“You smell good,” Jack says, and then realises he can now never stop hugging Mark, because it means he'll have to look at him. After he said that._ _ _ _

____Mark moves his hand off of Jack's back and pushes him away slightly._ _ _ _

____“I just spent hours on a plane, then had to get more than one confusing as fuck train here and I haven't showered or brushed my teeth,” Mark says. “I think you're definitely crazy of if you think I smell good right now.”_ _ _ _

____Jack meets Mark's dark eyes, and they both laugh. He feels like he hasn't laughed purely in days._ _ _ _

____“Also, it's cold out here. Invite me in,” Mark suggests. “Tell me what happened to your face.”_ _ _ _

____Jack steps back and gestures for Mark to come in. Mark drags his suitcase inside the door, and Jack lets it fall closed._ _ _ _

____“You won't believe me,” Jack starts._ _ _ _

____“I will,” Mark says. “I was trying to say this when we got disconnected--”_ _ _ _

____There's a crash from the kitchen, and both he and Mark whip their heads towards it. Jack's phone is shattered on the floor, and it's leaking green light like liquid._ _ _ _

____“Get THEM out of my house,” Anti says. Jack has the sense he's speaking from everywhere and nowhere again, without headphones this time._ _ _ _

____“Oh fuck,” Mark whispers, eyes wide. “I just wanted to help,” he says._ _ _ _

____“Them?” Jack says, dumbly, before the world spins sideways and he's crashing into the wall. His muscles twitch and he smells something burnt. He sees Anti's feet, his own shoes, his own jeans and knees in his line of vision where he's slumped against the wall. Anti's fingertips crackle with static, and Jack's hair stands on end. The air is electric, literally. His head beats unevenly for a second, and he knows Anti's just shocked him, somehow. When he looks up, he breathes in sharply._ _ _ _

____Anti's knife is at Mark's throat._ _ _ _

____Mark's eyes are wide, his head tilted back and the skin of his neck dark against Anti's white knuckles._ _ _ _

____“Get up and get into the office, Jackaboy. You FUCKED up,” Anti snarls, the whites of his eyes flashing, before they flick back to endless black._ _ _ _

____Jack gets up and goes._ _ _ _

____\---_ _ _ _

____Without lifting a finger, Anti binds them in electrical cables. Jack's office is a tangle of them, and Anti takes advantage. Mark is thrown into the corner of his VR space with his wrists tied, while Jack is bound to his chair. His arms are held tight behind him, hands twisted in cable from his fingers to his elbows. He desperately wants to cover his chest, but the smallest movement pulls at his shoulders terrifyingly._ _ _ _

____“Little king,” Anti snaps at Jack, “of your little community. You've fucked everything up, Jack. This was just between us.”_ _ _ _

____“It's still--” Jack starts._ _ _ _

____“NO, IT'S FUCKING NOT,” Anti screams. His form dislocates like a soundwave breaking through a pane of glass. Jack sees insides and viscera and closes his eyes for a second. “You don't know what you've done.”_ _ _ _

____“I just wanted to talk to Jack,” Mark says._ _ _ _

____Anti glitches and comes back crouching in front of Mark._ _ _ _

____“You could have _talked_ to him without coming into my house,” he spits. _ _ _ _

____“With... respect,” Mark starts, and Anti's hand reaches out, grasping at Mark's fringe._ _ _ _

____“No,” he says. “I'm not him. Don't think you can flatter me into any kind of _mercy_. I'm not interested in you, or your pretty friend with the eyeliner addiction.”_ _ _ _

____“Fine,” Mark bites out angrily, and Jack can't help but call Mark’s name as a warning. Anti is holding his knife behind his back as he holds Mark's hair, and Jack can barely watch but he also cannot possibly look away. “Without respect then: you cut Jack off from everything and you expected his friends to just abandon him while you torture him for who fucking knows what reason? I know you haven't been around long, and maybe that explains why you're acting like a child. We can help you,” Mark says._ _ _ _

____“Help me?” Anti laughs, loud and spiraling into choppy broken glass sounds._ _ _ _

____Jack sees two things happen at once: Mark's hand, which was tied behind his back, grabs Anti's wrist and bends it so far backwards it snaps. Anti's hand, holding the knife, swings in an arc for Mark's face. It's embedded in the foam padding of the wall as Mark tilts his head gracefully out of its path._ _ _ _

____Anti glitches out, and appears again across the room, his wrist still bent at an angle that makes Jack's mouth water sickly._ _ _ _

____Mark is standing slowly. His skin is pale, and then Jack realises not just pale, but grey. Black and white. The shadows around him seem darker and at odds with the light in the room. He casts no shadow except for something thin that creeps around his body, leaving a suit in its wake. Mark's hands tug at the lapels of his jacket, and he rolls his neck a little._ _ _ _

____He looks in Jack's direction, and Jack drops his eyes immediately. His insides crawl at the thought of meeting his eyes._ _ _ _

____“Mark,” Jack says, stubborn with hope. He recognises Dark, but he doesn't want to admit this is happening. He glances over at where Anti stands, still but flickering like a paused VHS tape._ _ _ _

____“You know who I am, Jack,” Dark's voice isn't right in some fundamental way. “Say my name?” He asks, turning to Jack and smiling._ _ _ _

____“You've not been here five seconds and I already want to tear your tongue out, Dark,” Anti snaps._ _ _ _

____Jack looks between them, still avoiding Dark's eyes. “What _are_ you?” he asks, not expecting either of them to answer. _ _ _ _

____“There's more nothing in the universe than there is anything else. That's what I am,” Dark says. “Isn't that right, Anti?”_ _ _ _

____Dark steps forward and reaches his hand out towards Anti's face. Anti still flickers like he's been paused, but the distortion is greater now, as if he's trying to stay stiller than he wants to. He avoids Dark's eyes, staring at his chest like Jack had instinctively done._ _ _ _

____" _Nothing_ is right," Anti spits. _ _ _ _

____Dark's edges shudder, the blue and red seeming to resonate dangerously as Anti speaks._ _ _ _

____“Are you going to get in my way, void?” Anti spits._ _ _ _

____“I wouldn't dream of it,” Dark says, insincerely. “You _do_ look good, virus. Desperation suits you.”_ _ _ _

____Jack sees a mirror of himself and Mark, and it makes his skin crawl. He recognises what he's looking at deeply, distorted as it is. Distorted as everything Anti touches is._ _ _ _

____Anti glitches to stand in front of Jack. Dark's chin rests on Anti's tense shoulder, and they both look down at him. Jack has never felt smaller, and it makes him as angry as it does scared._ _ _ _

____“Can you get me a phone?” Dark asks, turning so his lips brush Anti's neck._ _ _ _

____Anti's form shivers and stutters but holds mostly solid._ _ _ _

____“Obviously,” Anti says, and holds out his hand: Jack's phone is in it._ _ _ _

____“Fix it,” Dark says, sounding bored. One of his grey-skinned hands is pressed flat over Anti's stomach, tugging up his t-shirt and stroking the hair there._ _ _ _

____“I don't take order from you, void,” Anti says, but as Jack watches, the cracks in the screen glow green before sealing themselves shut._ _ _ _

____“Of course not, darling,” Dark breathes, soft and condescending. Jack watches him move to grasp Anti's shoulder with cold looking fingers, but as they close Anti is gone, reappearing on Jack's left side._ _ _ _

____“Don't. Fucking. Push. Me.”_ _ _ _

____Dark just smiles, and holds up the phone._ _ _ _

____“Strike a post, Anti,” Dark says, and gestures at Jack as if he's a prop. “Get close as you can.”_ _ _ _

____“Don't think you're doing me a favour, I'd already thought of it,” Anti speaks from nowhere before he blinks into existence fractionally closer to Jack's left shoulder._ _ _ _

____“No, no, no,” Dark says, and strides forwards, hands reaching for Jack's collar fast enough Jack flinches._ _ _ _

____“Get the fuck off me,” Jack snaps. His head is jerked forwards as Dark tugs on the neck of his t-shirt, and it tears like tissue in his fingers._ _ _ _

____“I'll do whatever I want to you, Jack. Remember that,” Dark says. Jack glares at his smiling mouth._ _ _ _

____Anti's knife is in his hand in a blink, and Jack sees the flash of it out of the corner of his eye. He sees Dark hold up a finger in Anti's direction. Dark releases Jack's collar slowly, and brushes off the front of his suit jacket as if touching Jack had somehow dirtied him._ _ _ _

____“Calm down, virus. Sex sells. Something _mine_ understands,” Dark says, petting his own cheek, Mark's cheek, in three small slaps._ _ _ _

____“Mark isn't _yours_ ,” Jack snaps. _ _ _ _

____“Shhh now, Jack, just try to look cute, that should be easy enough for you,” Dark says. He looks at Jack and Jack's looks down and sideways, focussing on Anti's knife._ _ _ _

____“You make me sick,” Anti says, and Jack can practically hear his eyes rolling. The disgust in his tone overcomes the distortion of his voice. Jack agrees, aggressively._ _ _ _

____“I know you're lying,” Dark says simply._ _ _ _

____Anti growls like a cornered cat._ _ _ _

____“Pose,” Dark orders._ _ _ _

____He takes the photo._ _ _ _

____He steps closer and Anti hisses at him, his tongue forked and glitching, his teeth sharp._ _ _ _

____Dark reaches his hand around Anti's side, towards Jack's neck. There's an absence of light that creeps forwards. The tip of it curls curiously, like a living thing. Jack can't follow it with his eyes as it gets too close, but he feels it. It's wrapping around his throat, loose but fitted._ _ _ _

____"Mmmhmm," Dark hums. "You would suit subjugation, virus."_ _ _ _

____"Get that filth off him," Anti barks sharply. "He's mine."_ _ _ _

____"Oh, darling. Everything is mine."_ _ _ _

____“He doesn't belong to you, and neither do I,” Anti snaps, and jerks away from Dark. It's purely physical, and it seems to surprise Dark. He stumbles. The phone in his hand rips free from his fingers and slaps into Anti's palm, soaking into his skin like it was never solid, the wires visible like veins as it melts and melds into him._ _ _ _

____“I'm trying to help you, and you're too stubborn to know what's good for you. I'm older than you, Anti. I know better. Do. As. I. Say.”_ _ _ _

____“Go fuck yourself, you gothic cunt.”_ _ _ _

____"Look at me, you worthless accident,” Dark growls, his voice distorting in a way that makes Jack's head swim, his form breaking in three. Anti just laughs, high pitched and mean, but doesn't raise his eyes. “Well,” Dark says, coalescing. “I see how you'd prefer this to go, and I can accommodate. If you like it rough, glitch, I can provide that. Understand,” Dark says, turning to Jack abruptly, and Jack flinches, “understand, Jack, that it doesn't have to be this way. Just do as I say, and I can give you anything.”_ _ _ _

____They both move at once, or possibly Dark moves first, but Anti is faster._ _ _ _

____Anti's knife cuts through the fabric of Dark's suit and into the skin of his chest, a long line and Jack watches it open up and not bleed. Nothing comes from the wound. It's black as a starless night, as if Mark's body is full to the brim with absolutely nothing. Dark's form separates, red and black and blue like a broken 3D image._ _ _ _

____Dark's hands find Anti's throat. As he watches, Jack feels as if he's fainting again, but the shadow that creeps from all the edges of the room disappears before nothingness comes. When he can see again, they're both gone._ _ _ _

____\---_ _ _ _

____Jack's shoulders ache from struggling against the electrical cords binding his arms, but despite Anti's disappearance they never once loosened. As Jack contemplates if tipping the chair over is worth breaking his own arms or dislocating his shoulders, the darkness begins to creep into his vision again._ _ _ _

____Dark steps into existence with Anti held by the scruff of his glitching neck, his head hanging limp, face towards the floor. Blood drips freely onto the carpet._ _ _ _

____Jack understands that Mark's body is solid and strong, but Dark holds Anti like a piece of used tissue. His arm is tensed, but there's no trace of strain on his face, Mark's face. Jack doesn't understand why it's so much harder to look at Mark's image like this. He doesn't find Anti nearly so hard to look directly at. Dark's eyes are impossible to meet._ _ _ _

____“I did you a little favour on my way out,” Dark says._ _ _ _

____Dark takes his unoccupied hand and grasps Anti's hair, tilting his head up towards the light._ _ _ _

____Jack sees what he's done immediately. He's always had a surplus of empathy, even for people who may not deserve it entirely, but the ache in his stomach when he sees Anti's face is officially too much. Anti's in pain and Jack knows he deserves it, but he just feels a phantom sting across his own lips as well as an ache in the pit of his stomach. _For the love of Jesus fucking Christ, Seán, get it together.__ _ _ _

____Anti's lips are sewn shut._ _ _ _

____There are seven tight, neat stitches in thick twine, binding his lips closed and ending in his cheeks. The wounds look as if they've been washed down, the blood on Anti's pale skin is pink and diluted. The front of his t-shirt is stained darker black. There's blood coming from his ear as his head lolls to one side, a drop of red running down over the front of the black spacer in his earlobe. His skin is as pale as Jack has ever seen his own, the black thread and plastic standing out sharply, the red of his blood just as stark._ _ _ _

____“Aren't you going to thank me, Jack?”_ _ _ _

____“You're FUCKING joking me—” Jack's face snaps to the side as Dark backhands him, dropping Anti to the floor like a dead thing._ _ _ _

____“WRONG ANSWER, JACK.” The light in the room changes, and Jack finds himself looking up at a triplicate image of Dark: grey, red and blue. They're all snarling, identically angry: “Thank me for helping you,” Dark snaps. His selves seem to realign, fractionally, cracked edges reforming. He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair in a parody of a gesture Jack loved seeing from Mark. Jack's eyes slide past Dark's but can't linger. He sees the smudge of black under his lash line and feels more than sees a bright fire red flickering in Dark's irises._ _ _ _

____On the floor, Anti stirs, his fingers curling into claws against the carpet. He makes a noise like steel being torn apart._ _ _ _

____“Thank me for helping you,” Dark repeats. Jack doesn't think he imagines the hesitation as Dark glances down at Anti, still prone at his feet, but trying to roll over now._ _ _ _

____“Thank you,” Jack grits out. He doesn't know what else to do._ _ _ _

____Dark shudders all over, glowing red and blue at the edges._ _ _ _

____“Good boy,” he says. He's gone, abruptly, and Jack almost screams when he feels a hand on his shoulder. “Such a good boy,” Dark says in his ear, voice dipping low, into Mark's deepest tones. Jack shudders and opens his mouth, but can't think. “Remember, Jack. I was good to you, and all you had to do was exactly what I said. You get a reward, something that will help you with your situation: he's hungry.” Dark's breath is hot on the shell of his ear. “Why do you think he hasn't simply slipped inside you yet? He's weak as a kitten, and incidentally sounded just like one when I sewed his mouth shut.”_ _ _ _

____“That would explain how you managed to do that to him, then,” Jack says, unable to help himself. He doesn't know why he's defending Anti, or if he's just taking the only way to lash out he has and running with it. On the floor Anti has rolled onto his back, and Jack sees one of his closed eyes leak red across his cheek, stopping in the hair at his jawline._ _ _ _

____Dark's hand is abruptly in his hair, pulling hard. His grip feels utterly implacable, immovable, but not painful. It's more uncomfortable for how it doesn't hurt. Jack tugs against it, managing to tilt his head to the side, away from Dark. He regrets it immediately as Dark presses his lips to his exposed neck. Then to the shell of his ear. Then to the burning hot surface of his cheek-- Dark's handprint is probably outlined in bright red, Jack's skin has always showed any mark so easily._ _ _ _

____“I do see why Mark likes you, Jack, but I have a little more advice. If you'd like me to leave you in mint condition for Mark's... return... I would suggest you shut that pretty mouth of yours, before I decide to do something fun to it. Now thank me again, for being so kind.”_ _ _ _

____“Thank you,” Jack spits through his teeth, making it as caustically sarcastic as he can manage._ _ _ _

____“Ohhh,” Dark hums, deeply. “You do share more than a face, it seems. I see where Anti gets his unpleasant attitude. Let's try that again, Jack,” Dark says into his hear. His breath is warm as a normal person's. He sounds amused now, no trace of anger. “Don't fight me. Use that pretty head of yours.”_ _ _ _

____Jack wants to move away so badly he almost wrenches his shoulder out of joint before he can control the urge, but the cables Anti had wrapped there hold as solid and inexorably as Dark's grip on his hair. Dark smells like Mark, which unsettles Jack, and makes his stomach turn. He also smells like hot metal, and strangely, cooking meat. Red meat._ _ _ _

____“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Dark says, voice rumbling and low as a storm cloud._ _ _ _

____“I don't know,” Jack says. “You seemed pretty close to me.” He glances down at Anti's prone form, Anti glitches and stirs, but doesn't wake. His mouth is bleeding, still, sluggishly, dripping onto the carpet now from the hair on his chin. If that's how Dark treats his friends, Jack is fucked._ _ _ _

____“There's another saying about who you keep closest, but I'm sure you know that one,” Dark says. Dark's hand is gone from his hair abruptly and he's standing straight in front of Jack again, his stomach level with Jack's face. Dark's hand slides under his chin and tilts his head upwards. Jack sees his shirt is unbuttoned low enough that he can see Mark's chest in greyscale. Dark presses his fingers under Jack's chin harder, and reluctantly, his eyes meet Dark's. “So thank me again, Jack,” Dark prompts. “Do it nicely.”_ _ _ _

____Jack can't look away._ _ _ _

____Dark's eyes are red._ _ _ _

____Jack understands why he didn't want to look, before. There's nothing there in Dark's eyes. Jack is looking into the void and it's looking back at him, hungrily. Nothing compels him. Nothing except fear._ _ _ _

____“Thank you, Dark,” Jack says._ _ _ _

____“Good boy,” Dark repeats one more time, and brushes his lips over Jack's. Jack feels the same creeping black tendrils from before on his arms, searching slow and inexorable. The cables around his arms loosen and drop. He catches them with his fingers and holds tight, not trusting his freedom._ _ _ _

____When Jack opens his eyes, Dark is gone, and Mark is back. Mark's skin is golden and real again. Jack feels tears track down his cheeks._ _ _ _

____Mark snatches his hand back from Jack's face as if he's been burned, then groans deeply._ _ _ _

____“I'm so sorry.”_ _ _ _

____Mark hits the floor hard, and Jack actually hears his teeth click together._ _ _ _

____Anti is awake, his hand held out towards Mark and his fingertips black claws, sparking gently._ _ _ _

____Jack's heart pounds as if he's been shocked himself. Mark is still breathing, Jack can see his chest move. Anti stands and kicks him in the side, hard. Jack winces._ _ _ _

____“Leave him alone,” Jack snaps, clenching his hands on the loose cables that had been binding his wrists._ _ _ _

____Anti whirls on him and snarls, then glitches out-- his mouth opens more widely against the stitches and Jack winces instinctively. It's hard enough to look at Anti's inconsistent, damaged form when he isn't breaking to pieces, ripping his skin open trying to scream at Jack._ _ _ _

____Anti bends and grasps Mark's arms, hefting him bodily and dragging him out through the door._ _ _ _

____“Leave him alone! He isn't Dark!” Jack yells after him. Jack is suddenly alone in the room, and he wants to drop the cables, run to Mark. He hesitates. He hears the door to his bedroom slam, and his hands twitch with indecision._ _ _ _

____Anti pops back into existence, holding his knife. He brings it to his lips and slices each stitch quickly, aggressively._ _ _ _

____“You're going to cut yourself,” Jack says, because he can't stop himself. It's horrifying to watch, waiting for Anti to slip and the knife to open his cheek like a jack-o-lantern. It makes Jack's own cheeks ache as he watches. Mark (or Dark?) may have made fun of Anti's tendency to injure himself, but as Jack watches, he's almost as horrified as at the prospect of Anti turning the knife on him. A black stitch flutters to the ground. Anti's mouth is free, and he opens it widely, stretching his jaw. He puts a hand on his chin and twists his face to the side, pressing until even Jack hears the crack across the room. He looks more solid than he has before._ _ _ _

____It's as if Dark's attentions have made Anti more strong, rather than less. Jack can't think straight, his head aches and he keeps seeing flashes of red eyes. He grips the computer cables in his hands, knowing if he drops them, Anti will see. He needs to pick his moment and pick it fast._ _ _ _

____Anti curls his lip._ _ _ _

____“Your turn,” Anti says. His fingernails on the knife have changed-- they're long, black, like the talons of a bird of prey. All of him changes so subtly and rapidly Jack can't keep track. He's everything Jack's ever seen him depicted as, occasionally, brain-achingly, at the same time. He's unstable in all senses Jack can think of. “You forget. You don't listen. You let that fucking _void_ in here, and look what's happened now? Do you think you're clever now?” Anti snaps. He brings a black-tipped nail up to his face and slips it under the last stitch hanging from his cheek, tugging it free impatiently. _ _ _ _

____“I didn't know--” Jack starts._ _ _ _

____“Liar, liar, LIAR,” Anti yells. His face is still pale, despite his spitting-hissing rage. He gestures with the knife in his hand in an arc that comes close enough to Jack's face that he can't help jerk backwards. The chair rolls and wobbles._ _ _ _

____“ _You_ started this,” Jack says. _ _ _ _

____Anti's eyes flick totally black._ _ _ _

____“Then I'm going to fucking finish it.”_ _ _ _

____Jack drops the cables and bolts. He hears Anti call from down the hall as he skids into the bathroom, smashing the bone of his shoulder into the door frame and grunting in agony. "This is going to be good!” Anti's laugh follows him, echoing impossibly._ _ _ _

____There's nowhere to go. The window is high and thin, and opens only about the width of Jack's palm._ _ _ _

____"You really thought you could, didn't you? Guess who knows fucking better," Anti grits his teeth and the word distorts like the scream of steel against steel. Anti's fingers grip his thighs and he pulls hard; Jack falls, his short nails scraping the wood of the windowsill until it's packed underneath. His head hits the tile wall, his knees the tub edge, everything goes sideways and then Anti is on top of him._ _ _ _

____He lands painfully on the tiles outside the bathtub, laid out with Anti immediately on top of him, half physically scrambling on top and half appearing in pieces from nothing. Anti solidifies on top of Jack's legs. He weighs so much, and nothing at once. He smells like plastic, Jack's own clothing, and blood. Jack's vision grays. Anti's hands are around his throat. His hands find Anti's wrists, and his clenches his fingers, digs in his nails. Anti’s arm bisects, light cycling through blue-green so fast Jack feels like he's going to have a seizure, and his left hand clenches in on nothing._ _ _ _

____Anti's grip barely falters. Jack can't breathe._ _ _ _

____He's dizzy and his vision is crawling with black spots. Anti's blood drips down from the wound in his neck, ragged and open above Jack's eyes. Jack snaps at it with his teeth, instinct taking over thought the longer he's held down, the shorter his breath grows. Pushing up against Anti's grip only helps the black crash in faster around the edges of his vision. Static screams in his ears and Anti's head dips closer, his teeth bared and clenched, blood running free over his chin now._ _ _ _

____Jack passes out, again._ _ _ _

____When Jack wakes up, he wakes up in pain. With that comes enlightenment: he's not dead. He's still on the bathroom floor, and he knows Anti stopped._ _ _ _

____Anti chose to stop. Anti chose to keep him alive. Anti _needs_ him: needs him deeply. Anti needs his life to live. _ _ _ _

____He blinks at the ceiling. He knows he's not alone in the bathroom without looking, the way he's known whenever Anti is close, and he's know what Anti might say before he says it. Jack rolls onto his side and spits blood. His throat feels raw._ _ _ _

____The knife is next to him, and he closes his fingers around it. They feel stiff and ache like nothing he's felt before._ _ _ _

____Anti's face appears in front of his eyes, mirroring Jack's position, facing him on his side. His eyes are wide open. If Jack wasn't bone-deep exhausted he thinks he might have jumped. He rises to his feet slowly. He'd go faster, but it hurts. Everywhere. His fingernails throb, his head, his throat feels bruised, his knees scream at him as he straightens up. Anti's image flickers and Jack knows, deeply, he has time now. Jack holds Anti's knife loosely in his right hand, and Anti's eyes flicker to it and away._ _ _ _

____“That hurt you as much as it hurt me,” Jack says quietly. He can't speak normally, his throat feels damaged and dry._ _ _ _

____Anti rises slowly, then flickers out and back in, his form wavering but standing straight up._ _ _ _

____The evidence of what Dark had done still stains Anti's face, even if the scars have already faded. His mouth is ringed with dried blood, stained like cheap halloween make-up. He can't barely keep himself opaque._ _ _ _

____“I get it,” Jack says._ _ _ _

____“Dark is a FUCKING liar,” Anti spits, but it registers in the air as a soft crackling hiss. The static makes it sound as if the damage to Jack's throat is mirrored in Anti's own, and Jack is half reading his lips._ _ _ _

____Jack stands up as tall as he can manage, and faces Anti directly. He looks into his changeable eyes, dead on. Right now, one is blue and one is green, heterochromatic with the sclera white as Jack's own. Anti says something else and it's as if Jack's wearing headphones that have just broken, the sound fades out in his left ear first, then his right. Jack shakes his head a bit._ _ _ _

____Jack lifts the hand holding the knife to his own bruised throat, the sharp edge a hair’s breath from his own skin. His hands are steady. He feels so calm he's not sure he hasn't died._ _ _ _

____Anti's hand finds his own damaged throat and a grin slides across his face, then doubles in the air beside him briefly, before flickering out. His eyes go dead. Then green._ _ _ _

_____This isn't Fight Club, Jack._ He hears his inside his own head, clear as day. Clear as he knew what to say in any Anti video. _ _ _ _

____“Do it then, Jackaboy,” is what he hears outside his head, a low chatter of crackling static._ _ _ _

____Jack blinks. He lowers the knife, then he laughs._ _ _ _

____Anti bares his teeth, and Jack splits his knuckles on them._ _ _ _

____“You little shite,” Jack rasps._ _ _ _

____Jack drops the knife to the floor and refuses the urge to cradle his hand against his chest. His knuckles sting like a thousand papercuts and he knows he's split them open on Anti's teeth._ _ _ _

____“You couldn't be me,” Jack says. His throat is dry and it clicks when he swallows, he tastes blood like old pennies on his tongue. He feels more sure by the second. “You couldn't be me, but I _can_ be you.” _ _ _ _

____“HA,” Anti's laugh makes him jump, like he'd left his volume on full and forgotten. Anti's hand shoots out, but glitches right through Jack's throat._ _ _ _

____“Jesus FUCK,” Jack snaps, jerking his head backwards. He refuses to move his feet, though, despite the almost piss-inducing fear of Anti's hands around his throat again. No, Jack tells himself. _You win, because he can't._ Dark wasn't lying about Anti being weak, and Jack doesn't need his pearls of wisdom to understand that now. _ _ _ _

____“You couldn't be me,” Anti repeats, and Jack stares into Anti's eyes. They flick black and back. Anti smiles, and it freezes on his face like a paused video. He sounds _exactly_ like Jack. His voice is clear, no trace of electronic ticks or distortion, just hoarse and quiet. Jack wills his feet to stay planted, and wills himself to know he isn't wrong. If he can say one thing for himself, it's that he's stubborn in the face of what he needs to do. He watches Anti clenching his fists at his sides, fingers flexing around nothing, sense memory of the knife. “You couldn't be me,” Anti repeats. His mouth curves down, and Jack's curves upwards in return. He doesn't know how he knows, but he knows before it happens when Anti's neck drips a fresh rush of blood. His eyes flash black, blue, green, and back to black. “But I can be you,” Anti grits through clenched teeth, and the words slip out mangled, squealing with distortion. His left eye drops a fat tear of blood._ _ _ _

____Jack bares his teeth in a smile. Anti bears his teeth in-- anger, pain and fear. Jack rubs his own eye with the back of his hand, and there's blood there too._ _ _ _

____Anti mirrors him._ _ _ _

____“You're weak,” Jack tells him, and it comes out far softer than he'd intended. He almost wants to say sorry, as he watches the glitched image of his own face collapse._ _ _ _

____Anti's scream lingers even after his body disassembles itself into a kaleidoscope of pixels and blood._ _ _ _

____Jack flinches as the knife flies off the floor, embedding itself in the wall across the room. He steps forwards and rips it free, holding it point down in his bleeding hand._ _ _ _

____“YOU STAY WHEREVER THE FUCK YOU ARE, YOU ABSOLUTE CUNT. I _will_ speak to you later, and you WILL make nice!” Screaming at the walls has never felt quite as therapeutic. He knows, like he knew the script for Anti, that he's been heard. _ _ _ _

____He goes to find Mark._ _ _ _

____\---_ _ _ _

____“Has anyone ever told you you're too nice?” Mark asks him. Mark is in Jack's bed, where they have both been for three solid days, doing _almost_ nothing but recovering. Jack shifts, straddling Mark's sheet-covered thighs. Jack plants one hand on Mark's bare chest for balance._ _ _ _

____“Actually yeah, pretty often,” Jack says, leaning backwards to grab his phone off the mattress. “I'm not going to let him starve though. Anti's a nasty little shit, but he's real and he's my responsibility.”_ _ _ _

____“Hello,” Mark says, as Jack straightens up and turns back to him. He's staring at Jack's bare belly again, and Jack smiles down at him, and gently threads his fingers through Mark's messy hair. Mark's hand grasps his wrist and pulls it away. Jack is very aware of only his boxers and a sheet between their bodies. Jack's face still hurts every time he makes any facial expression, but he doesn't have time for caring about that when he's looking down at Mark and making him stupid._ _ _ _

____“Hello, you big stupid. I think I'm going to post this one,” Jack says, and flips his phone around._ _ _ _

____“No comment,” Mark says, neutrally._ _ _ _

____“It's alright, Mark. Dark's a douchebag, but he was right.”_ _ _ _

____It's the photo of him and Anti, taken by Dark. He knows that Mark remembers, because Mark had told him Dark let him remember, for good or ill, he'd seen everything. In the picture, Jack's chest is exposed by the tear in his shirt and his face has a streak of blood from his busted up eyebrow. Anti is leaning into him from the side, not blocking the camera's view, and his tongue (forked, in that instant) was touching the side of Jack's throat. The left side of Jack's face a mark of blood from his eyebrow downwards._ _ _ _

____“Well,” Mark says. He stops and looks up at the ceiling. “People are going to lose their minds.”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah,” Jack agrees. He hits post. “That should keep the little glitch fed for a bit.”_ _ _ _

____\---_ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't look up Jack's ex-girlfriend's name, because it doesn't seem necessary: but in case anyone wondered if I knew it was wrong, there you go. I also chose not to include Amy and Signe in the story not because I don't think they're both gorgeous and lovely humans, but to keep things simple in this little bit of fiction. 
> 
> If you leave me a comment I will love you a lot, thank you for reading!


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